


4th of July

by misskyeyes



Category: Ed Sheeran (Musician), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: #Icouldnthelpmyself, #angst, #angstfluff, #bunchofsweeranfeels, F/M, Idontevencareaboutwhoisgoingtomarrywho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 17:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13551825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misskyeyes/pseuds/misskyeyes
Summary: Both will write a heart-breaking song about it. It’s a way as any other to go on.... Or the moment I decided to write my first fic in english and fail.





	4th of July

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lady_cocca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_cocca/gifts).



> First thing first: english isn't my mother tongue so there may be mistakes (lot of them, probably). Obviously If you find any, please, let me know so I can correct them asap then go to bury myself alive. YAY.
> 
> Well, so: I ship (WILL ALWAYS SHIP) Sweeran with all my evil heart. I listened to "Dress" and "Endgame" a bunch of times, had too many feelings and nowhere to keep them.  
> Result? Me overthinking things and mulling over the idea of writing a fic to fix my problem for - like - months (YEARS).
> 
> Why did I end writing it in english? Good question.xD Probably just for fun. Or maybe it was time to give it a try and see.
> 
> Stuff you're going to find in this fanfiction:
> 
> \- "Dress" quotes and references  
> \- hints to almost half of the songs in Reputation xD  
> \- me loving Tom Hiddleston WAY MORE than every other Taylor bf ever  
> \- all my not-so-hidden kinks, probably
> 
> Last but not least: every single one of these 5200 words (it's a MONSTER, not just a shot) belongs to the one and only Chandler to my Joey, my beloved Stracciatella del Guor and partner in Sweeran crimes that patiently waited for it for over a month. 
> 
> Cocca, è tutta tua.<3

 

 

 2015 | _I’m spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we’re both drunk_.

 

  

“It’s gonna be so _much_ fun!” Taylor giggles, twirling up and down the room.

Her soft laugh echoes down the hallway, against warm walls and closed doors. Ed can’t help but smile at her slightly drunk excitement, deeply aware of them being the only people around the house. She waves her glass at him, mimicking a toast then empties it all at once.

“ _Ow_!, maybe you should slow down a little bit…!”

He’s already had two and a half glasses of Italian wine, heady and expensive, but not enough to lower his guard. Just his head being muffled and some misspelled word here and there. Taylor, though, is a completely different story. She is still daydreaming about her incredible, mesmerizing 4th of July summer party - chatting about glitter outfits, cocktails and _Polaroid_ machines - and refilling the glass over and over again.

It not takes long for her to stumble on a mischievous fold in the carpet and spill wine all over her dress.

“ _Shit!_ ” Hisses and then bursts out another silvery laugh, “I’m such a- I had to clean up this mess!”

A moment later she’s leaning against the sink in a small guest bathroom just across the hall. Her head spins faster and faster - while her body seems somehow weightless -, the half-full glass forgotten somewhere over a nearby shelf. Ed’s not even steady on his feet, but when he reaches her his hands are firm enough to open the tap and help Taylor find her own balance.

“I guess we’re done with this Negroamaro stuff for a while, aren’t we?” He jokes, but she’s not paying attention at all.

As a matter of fact Taylor is _one hundred per cent_ lost in her world, uselessly brushing the stain on her dress with cold water and humming an old country song at the mirror hanging on the wall upon their heads. She’s definitely tipsy and over-cheerful.

Ed’s grip on her forearms is safe - fingertips softly buried in pale skin – and he’s pretty sure he won’t let her go until she’s back on the sofa, far away from slippery floors and possibly shattered glass. He can surely manage a hangover. _Or two_.

“Hey, enough” Ed says half-voice. Her neckline is soaked and the velvet red mark on the silk fabric is even wider now “it doesn’t work.”

_“No,” she stubbornly shakes her blonde head, “they’re- _he’s_ coming tomorrow. I need this fixed. Everything has to be perfect!”_

It takes him totally by surprise. One moment Taylor’s looking at herself in the mirror and the next she is standing in the bathtub - all of a sudden - reaching for the showerhead. _What the fuck_.

Ed jumps, without a second thought, climbing over porcelain and bottles to stop her from turning it on. She’s annoyingly tall and her arms way too long, it’s not _that_ easy. They fight; there are laughter and playful yells and muffled screams while Taylor keeps on pushing him away, jokingly.

“Very bad idea, indeed” Ed’s not even remotely sober enough for this.

There’s a crash somewhere behind him and then wine basically all over their bare feet. It’s a flash; Taylor stepping backwards, sliding on wet ceramic and bumping on his chest right before he loses his equilibrium once and for all. He lands right against the edge – foreseeing a bruise on his lower back in a few hours – with her sprawled quite literally all over him.

“ _Oh, my_!” She sighs, her body shaken once again by a silvery laughter that echoes right between Ed’s ribs.

 _Terrible_ idea, he corrects himself while letting his eyes linger on the dress all curled up and raised on her thighs. Ok, _worst idea ever_ and at an unbearable level of awkward. Ed’s flushed, his heart bumping like crazy and his mouth dry. He doesn’t even know where and how lay his hands ‘cause every single spot in sight seems, _well_ , slightly inappropriate. That’s when it happens.

Taylor chuckles quietly – suddenly sleepy - and snuggles against him, her face hidden in the warm hollow between his neck and shoulder, with her hands clinging to his shirt. She mumbles something but her voice is just too drowsy and Ed’s definitely overwhelmed by the feeling of soft lips brushing against his skin.

There’s wine scent all around them and in Taylor’s hair, and her warm, thin body pressed against him so he can clearly feel _every_ shape, curves and bones. He’s reasonably positive that it may be categorized as _torture_.

For a brief moment Ed thinks he might just let go a little bit. An infinitesimal time laps, just before Taylor breaks the silence once again, all smiling and high-dreamy. Maybe a little incoherent.

“God, I miss the squad like… _terribly_!” _Yeah, and surely Calvin too_.

Ed looks at the ceiling, then back at her with a deep sigh: once again is up to him to do the right thing, being the good, super-reliable best friend Taylor deserves and possibly don’t screw up. He loops her shoulders with an arm, blows a gentle kiss on her forehead and Taylor lets out a pleased, half sleepy smile reflecting the one on his face. He’s not even jealous, just in the acceptance phase.

 _She’s happy, he’s happy_ and that’s how (the only way) it works.

 

 

*

 

 

 2016 | _All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting_.

 

 

Seems like _everyone_ ’s attending that party.

When Ed shows up, the big house in Rhode Island has nothing left of the quiet, peaceful place he remembered. There are voices; cheers and loud music coming through open doors and overly crowded rooms. As he comes close his gaze wanders between _stars & stripes_ shirts, tanned legs and red solo cups looking for that one blonde head he could recognize anywhere, but halfway down his random walk he gets distracted by Cara and some other girl with big, colorful cocktails in their hands.

“Have some, _Gingery_!” Ed picks a glass with a slight smile: absolutely _no wine_ this time, just (so many) drinks and maybe some prom-likely rum and cinnamon punch. Clever, Taylor.

And he finds her moments later, standing right across the room, where she’s basically jumping on her feet while laughing with some other friends over a stupid joke. She has _that_ same silk dress, an old-fashioned squeezed between her hands and- _there he is_.

Taylor talks about Tom. _A lot_. So much Ed feels like he had known him for a while, even if they’ve never met before. Even from afar, he seems to radiate something like a coolness magnetic field. That’s serious inferiority complex material.

“ED! Oh my god, you’re here!” She notices him and suddenly brightens up.

Taylor uses to welcome him with a tight hug and a big, lovely smile and that’s it. Just, this time, the hug lasts a little bit more. Her fingertips rest on his bare arm, while she’s literally submerging him with questions about the flight, London, jet lag issues and his tour, all at once. And Taylor has this power over him that when she’s around, literally everyone else just disappears and she is the _only_ thing he can see or listen to.

Ed doesn’t even realize she’s pulling him across an improvised dancing floor to the quiet corner where Tom is waiting, not until he finds himself sitting next to him and Taylor on a vintage sofa.

It feels slightly uncomfortable at first, but by the time of some introductions they’re talking about music and movies and sharing some _funny-in-a-British-humor-kinda-way_ stories. Tom is sassy, brilliant and a lot more fun than what he seems at first sight.

“So in this movie you played a country singer and did all the vocals and stuff? Fucking awesome” And in a list of virtues and charm, something like a _ten points straight_ score.

“Yeah, It’s one of Taylor’s favorites. Guess why.”

“Seems like I have a _thing_ for very talented British guys with a guitar”, her voice is a soft stroke.

Ed suddenly feels like he’s being in the way - like fucking _third wheeling_ on a date- but when Taylor brushes his shoulder with a hand, he raises his eyes to find the sweetest, fondest smile on her face just for him.

“Hit and sunk” he jokes. Another bad impression, _hell yeah_.

Not longer after that there’s a break between two playlists and people chatting is the only sound left in the air, that’s when Taylor decides to put him on the spot.

“Please, please, _please_ , would you entertain us?” She comes out of nothing with that pleading look he can’t resist to.

“Huh?” Ed bumbles, blushing slightly as he feels almost all the eyes on him. “What-“

“Tom told me he’s kinda a fan of yours too, you know? He would be thrilled to hear you playing something _live_ ” she leans in and her fingertips are once again gently stroking his arm up and down – and sending a warm shiver down his back -, her head almost tilting on his shoulder. “ _And me too_.”

“I don’t know…!”

“Please. You can have one of my guitars… I’m literally _begging_ here, Sheeran!”

“I guess- Well, ok.” Ed’s not genetically programmed to say no to Taylor, _that at least is for sure_. He raises his eyes to meet her giant smile and then Tom’s amused look.

“Thank you, I’m honored”, once again he’s incredibly kind and polite, the portrait of a perfect English gentleman.

So, in about five minutes Taylor has interrupted the improvised dj-set, brought him an instrument and a quite large, enthusiastic audience. No escape.

Ed places the red guitar in his lap and starts to pluck some strings, absent-mindedly entering his comfort zone; a few notes and he forgets how almost everyone in the room is looking at him. Could it be some friends at a summer party or 90.000 people in a stadium, at the end of the day it’s just him and the music. He starts to sing without even thinking, just following an impulse, a faded image carved in the back of his mind.

“Ah, I know this song!” Blake’s squeal catches him right at the end of the first verse, “it’s the theme from _My Best Friend’s Wedding_. I love it!”

 _Subtle, Ed_.

“Me too!” Taylor cheerfully claps her hands, with a smile even wider than before.

Beside her Tom is still silent, peacefully sitting with arms crossed and an unreadable look on his face. He’s not angry or even worried, just quiet and reflecting like somebody that knows things others haven't figured out yet. He sings quietly almost the whole song to himself alongside Ed’s well-tuned voice. Till the last ‘ _Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight’_.

Ed plays some other song after that and a couple of his favorite pieces. Taylor herself asks for _Tenerife Sea_ and he has to say yes _just because_. You can always dig your grave deeper.

Then everybody’s clapping and he has barely the time to realize Taylor’s whispering something for his ears only; an heartfelt ‘ _thank you_ ’ - red lips against pale skin -, her hand slightly squeezing his knee and she’s gone, up on her feet and ready to party again.

It’s definitely one of Ed’s longest nights and it ends like this, with him watching Taylor and Tom dancing on the other side of the room with their hands tied, both awkward and totally out of time and rhythm but still fucking captivating like a Renaissance picture. Tom seems to have everything in the right spot and is totally head over heels for her, so it’s a big _yes_ from Ed too.

He laughs silently, quite resigned to it.

His life is a fucking romantic comedy - and with a soundtrack on point -, _indeed_. Only the leading role seems to be always already taken.

 

 

*

 

 

2017 | _Say my name and everything just stop_ s _, I don’t want you like a best friend._

 

  

The _day after_ is always difficult, but the night – well – that’s almost impossible to deal with.

When the party’s over what’s left is just empty bottles in the corner, glitter-scattered floors and muffled laughs echoing outside the windows for some late, drunk guest probably got stuck in the parking lot waiting for a taxi. Or a sober friend. Maybe a few people housed in the guest rooms on the upper floor.

Ed has a couple of days off, so he’s staying, that’s when and why everything starts turning upside down.

The outstanding 4th of July celebration is done – fireworks gloriously blown up and all the dances danced with the right people - so the house is silent, it’s just him alone in the kitchen and Taylor silently picking up some left clothing and crumbled napkins from behind an armchair. Like a lights string, she keeps shining vividly as long as the atmosphere calls for her sparkle, then slowly fades out overwhelmed by melancholia and that typical party wistfulness that hits her right after and that’s now fighting side by side with a fit of anger.

“I would suggest a glass of red wine,” he jokes “but now I’m well aware it’s not recommended as a relaxing method for you…!”

“You’re a fucking bundle of fun” when Taylor swears is either a matter of excitement, disappointment or alcohol. Or she’s on the verge of crying even if she smiles over and over again.

Her little, sad laugh has a bittersweet taste on Ed’s lips too, ‘cause _he knows_.

Because he was there – same kitchen, two and a half hours earlier – at just one wall of distance from Taylor and Joe and he unintentionally overheard them: great results for craving an extra beer. They were bickering and Ed just wishing for someone to hit him and carry his unconscious body away. _Everything but that_.

So, Joe had some late morning appointment in LA and a flight scheduled for midnight even if he had arrived that same afternoon, she wanted him to stay at least till the end of the night and the result was a bad fight with doors slammed and fists banged on the table. Taylor broken voice repeatedly asking Joe to stay still echoes in his mind- _for God’s fucking sake, it was not intentional at all_.

He left halfway through the party, she was silently crying and shaking and all that _she’s happy-I’m happy_ situation Ed was holding on to suddenly short-circuited. It still does.

“It wasn’t the best soiree of them all, was it?” He manages to get one _real_ , quick smile out of her at least.

“Shot me and that would be an improvement” Taylor has this tendency of being very theatrical over nothings and she surely is good at it on the surface, but this time she’s somehow really hurt. 

“Or just leave. Seems it had _strongly_ come back in fashion lately…!”

It takes Ed almost five seconds to realize she has crossed the living room and is now standing right in front of him, just inches away. Taylor is looking at him with that half joking-half serious light in her eyes, as if she’s really expecting an answer but’s not sure whether or not to believe it. She seems almost scared.

“Stop talking shit, _blondie_. You know I’m not going anywhere” if not exactly scared too, Ed himself is at least slightly uncomfortable with all this situation so he chooses to hide behind a safe wall of sarcasm.

“Good, cause I just need somebody who stays.”

Everything that happens from that moment on feels pretty much unreal, like it belongs to someone else’s life.

It’s Taylor that kisses him first, just a small tug on his black shirt and their lips slowly pressed together. She’s delicate, there’s no urge but she doesn’t let him go until they both have to catch their breath. Then she leans back, within an inch from him, and rests her hand on his chest.

It’s not even the first time – on the Red tour there had been nights when they had just too much excitement and post-concert-adrenaline pumping in their veins and ended up locked in some dressing room, drinking and recklessly kissing on a velvet sofa -, still Ed can hear his own heart beating furiously in confusion and surprise. He almost think it would explode when Taylor brushes the corner of his lips with her fingertips to clean the lipstick stain she left, bright red on pale skin and raspy ginger beard.

She’s literally trapped between his body and the counter, their knees and thighs pressed together, noses still touching lightly and her eyes stuck on his face, Ed has absolutely no idea of what he’s supposed to do next.

“Taylor.” One word, six letters to express the biggest question of them all.

And it’s not _Tay Tay_ or Swizzle or some other playful nickname, just her name. _As it is_. Because now is somehow different, it’s just the two of them and a raw, overwhelming impulse. _Neither jokes nor games_.

He keeps looking at her, biting his lips and silently asking that one question over and over again. _Can I_?

And it’s not a matter of guilt, fear or shame – not about betraying other people, Cherry and Joe -, it’s between them. It’s Ed asking if he can love her, right here and now, like he has meant to for years and Taylor letting him with a small nod and the hint of a smile. Because they both know it’s this specific moment, this night out of time and their lives.

Ed’s kiss is not that soft, but deep and craving with parted lips and short breaths. His arms are firmly looped around her tiny waist, but he notice she’s wearing the same dress ( _again)_ only when he lift Taylor on the counter and his right hand slides up her back to find half soft fabric and half bare skin. He keeps caressing her until his fingertips reach the blonde waves falling on her shoulder, so he can pull slightly and expose her neck. Ed trails her jawline with the tip of his nose, then is for his lips to trace the soft curve of her throat; the more he lowers, the more it takes her breath away.

Taylor’s stifled moan when he places a soft kiss on her collarbone hits Ed like a punch in the stomach. It’s like a switch. He can feel the blood rush in his veins: _no way backs from here_.

His hands run up her legs pushing them open to get closer, curling the dress up around her thighs and bare more and more skin, then disappear between their pressed bodies. Ed can’t help but grin against her lips the moment he feels her quivering under his touch. Then one of Taylor’s arms slides down – the other still firmly clinging around his shoulders, fingertips buried in the ginger tangle on the back of his neck – apparently reaching for the drawers at their right. Ed breaks the kiss, eyes down on her.

“Third one from the bottom.”

He looks at her little, amused smile before leaning down to open it. _And there it is_. Ed picks the small cardboard box up and places it right under her nose.

“You never know…!” She shrugs, he shakes his head. They both laugh.

He can only accept that as far as he tried – _in. every. fucking. way._ besides taking the vows or kill himself –, there’s no chance he could find someone to replace Taylor.

His forever-best-friend Taylor that took him on tour around the U.S.A., granted him success and gave him the best six months of his life. That held his hand when he needed it and promised she would always be there for him, no matter what… _and keeps a pack of condoms hidden between fabric napkins and salad flatware, can you believe?_

It doesn’t matter how different from her his actual girlfriend can be. How many efforts to forget. _It’s Taylor_.

And Ed knows he’ll never be able to love someone the way he loves her.

He can feel it moments later, when she tightens her legs around his waist and lets him in. It’s like a closing circle, two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly even if the front picture is totally screwed up. Something’s wrong on the surface, but he never felt complete like this before.

The rhythm is all up to Ed, breaths and pushes and red marks on soft skin. He moves – slowly at first, then quicker and deeper -, one hand squeezing the counter edge to keep the balance and the other rested firmly on her hip. Taylor’s holding on to him so tight he can’t even tell their heartbeats apart anymore.

She tries desperately to choke her moans back – … _good God_ , people upstairs could hear them! And _this one_ is a secret that has to be kept - but she can’t help herself, when Ed’s thrusts became rougher they overflow from her lips to get straight under his skin, into his flesh and bones.

The moment he’s sure they’re both almost there, he run his fingers through her hair once more just to hold her still, make their foreheads and nose tips touch lightly.

_“Look at me.”_

Ed doesn’t even have to say it out loud. When Taylor reaches her orgasm moments later – nails buried in his shirt so deep he can feel them scratching the skin underneath –, her eyes are stuck to his while her loud sigh gets lost on his lips forever.

_So it’s fucking done? Here, now. And has to end the same way it began. Silently._

He’s breathless, steady on his feet and for a split second with no clues at all on what he’s allowed or not to. And he’s still inside her, still drowning in her eyes when Taylor lifts her hand to stroke his cheek and let him know with a soft smile that _it’s ok_ , he doesn’t have to stop. She pulls him gently into her embrace and Ed just favors her gesture - closing his eyes, burying his nose against her neck -, then starts moving again, arms looped around her like she’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

He can feel Taylor cradling him until he’s done.

It’s just moments later, when Ed turns his back to her, while trying to smarten himself up – pretty much sure all is left to do is vanish in his room and forget everything - that Taylor asks him, for the second time that night, to stay.

 

*

 

Their path to the bedroom is spangled with muffled laughs and whispered words, hands tied and stumbling on their feet. Halfway across the staircase Ed trips over Meredith and it results in an oddly adorable mixture of her meowing in disapproval, him swearing and almost bouncing down the stairs and Taylor laughing her head off. _Well, yay them!, now the whole house is probably awake and listening_.

“Come on”, and maybe that’s why Taylor locks the door with such an emphasis once they’re in.

World’s out, safe zone. It means no paparazzi nor big reputations and Hobson’s choices pending on their shoulders. The look on her face says this isn’t a night for ten-times-Grammy-winner Taylor Swift and her world famous _best friend for life_ to be forced once again in a scheme the press arranged for them. _Not yet_.

Now it’s just Taylor and Ed. And nobody watching.

She’s still barefoot so there’s no height gap and their lips are perfectly lined up when Ed slowly kisses her again. This time Taylor moves first and it’s serious and some way unexpected; she breaks the kiss and takes both his hand to place them over the bow that holds her dress up.

“Just take it off” it’s nothing more than a whisper, but she is perfectly aware of what’s asking him and sure enough for the both of them.

The fabric is soft and thin under Ed’s fingertips, as crisp as her skin is warm and inviting. Once again it’s up to him taking a step beyond an invisible line. It takes seconds that seem to last for years and when he finally finds the will to untie the twine on the back of her neck, the dress falls down her body like a small stream of water and folds up on the floor.

It’s not like he has never undress a woman or seen a naked body before, just- it’s _her_ , like this. And goddamn!, he wasn’t fucking prepared.

“ _Three years_ ,” Taylor giggles and gently pushes him backwards, until he crashes into her four-poster bed “it took you three years of me wearing that damn dress. I thought you would’ve been… quicker”.

And then Ed’s half lying down on his back and elbows with Taylor sitting astride his hips. She’s the quick one, _to be fair_ , as her right hand’s already fiddling with his belt while the other one is busy with the hem of his shirt.

“Well, it’s a British-Guys-thing… We’re a little more, you know, _old school._ ” They both laugh.

That’s the reason he catches her by surprise with his all of a sudden turn over. Taylor collapses in the white bedcover with a little shriek and rests on one side, blonde curls spread around her face and her legs bent between Ed’s, looking up at him. She’s breathtaking.

His blue eyes are chained to hers while he leans down to kiss the smooth curve of her exposed shoulder; it even seems to her they’ve got darker.

Towering over Taylor is something new, a perspective Ed has never gone through before and it’s overwhelming in all the right ways. He lets her move and slightly stretch an arm just to remove his glasses (soon to be left behind on the night stand); right before that, her thumb lingers over the little scar on his cheekbone, cutting his breath off. She stares at that look-like-a-deep-dimple carved in his beard with a sweet smile. It’s a story she’s been told a bunch of times, but it still entertains her and it’s… _so Ed_.

He gets up just to take his shirt off, throwing it carelessly on the floor while Taylor undoes his jeans.

Her hands are everywhere, like white ink pouring all over his tattoos ( _including the Red one that’s obviously her absolute favorite_ ) as Ed’s a big colorful spot broadening and wrapping them both up in soft sheets.

She rolls on one side again ad he gently pushes her to lay face down, intertwining their hands right over her head. Ed is thoughtful, even delicate, making sure of not to weigh on her so Taylor can easily arch her back and then lean down until her nose tip brushes against the blanket when he finally slides in, closing the space between their bodies. And it’s somehow familiar, but _different_ and crushing. All-consuming,

This time there’s no clothes or physical borders, just skin pressed against skin until they don’t know where one begins and the other ends anymore.

Every time she calls his name is a knife to the heart but Ed chooses not to stop anyway, to make love to her like this, silencing heavy breaths against her neck and hurtful thoughts in the back of his mind.

He knows it’s an outburst and as such, it has to end and it’s going to be cruel to him and Taylor both, nevertheless he lets her do everything she wants and needs.

 _And yeah!, that sounds like a bloody submissive_. _D a m n_.

Damn his life, his choices and shameful lack of will when it comes to Taylor. Twice damn the day he genuinely thought Cherry – the exceptionally average, ordinary, sweet brunette from his school years – was enough to close a chapter he needed (still needs) to end.

And here he is, in spite of everything, holding the girl he secretly sang about so many times and that he’s going to love his whole fucking life even if she’ll never be his.

Ed senses her tense and arch beneath him one last time as this final thought fades away. Then without almost realizing it, his fingers slide down to her wrists, grip tightening a bit as a heat wave hits him and moments later he’s finished too, her loud moan still echoing in his ears.

He moves away from her only to sprawl on his back and possibly silence his furious heartbeat. Taylor just rests her chin on crossed arms, looking at him while catching her breath, with some kind of resignation and maybe even guilt in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Ed.” He turns around so fast it almost makes his head spin.

They both remain very still for a long moment, just looking at each other, buried in a deafening silence. Ed is tempted to reach out and pull back a lock of hair from her sticky forehead.

“Don’t say that. _Please_.” He just clenches his fist under the pillow instead.

“It feels like I’m using you, but you know… I can’t,” she seems to stumble on her own words “we can’t.”

“People talk too much,” _and they’re also fucking good at telling lies, just for chronicle_ “this would be a big conversation, indeed.”

“The biggest of them all,” this is when Taylor allows herself a bittersweet smile, then moves to get closer and lay her blonde head against his shoulder, her right hand spread over the lion on his chest. “I know how it works. It does every time.”

Ed doesn’t even say a word; he can feel the same old cage closing on them again, even hear the clear sound of shutter clicks and stupid questions during mind-numbing interviews. They’re already sliding back in their default roles. _Brief yet intense_.

“I don’t wanna lose you. We promised we’re in this for life, didn’t we?”

In wich “this” is everything but a random night of _what could have been_ and _if only_. They both know well.

“I think I’m going to propose within New Year’s Eve. To Cherry. Guess it’s time” that’s it. Their final answer. And he can’t explain, not even to himself, why it came out just now. Like this.

Now it’s “ _he’s happy, she’s happy_ ”. Back to the start, a circle closing for good.

Those are the last words for what’s left of the night. She doesn’t complain and neither does Ed, because they’ve come to the only possible conclusion literally years before this one moment.

Taylor’s smile is wistful, but heartfelt and warm and as soft as her long-lasting ( _maybe_ ) last kiss. Then she just hides her face in the warm hollow between his neck and chest, closing her eyes and letting him wrap her in the sheets and his arms once again.

She’s going to call Joe first in the morning and Ed would probably take the earliest flight to London, but not before having a capital B Breakfast with her. They’ll chat and laugh like it never happened (or happened just for them to preserve and get lost in it when things get harder than the usual) and say goodbye with a thight hug and a renewed promise in their eyes.

Both will write a heart-breaking song about it.

It’s a way as any other to go on.

 

__(_ After the storm something was born on the 4th of july _.)_ _


End file.
